


The Bird-Short Story

by Sunf1ow3r



Series: Bird? What bird? [1]
Category: Two Sentence Horror Stories (TV 2019)
Genre: Birds, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 15:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29491968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunf1ow3r/pseuds/Sunf1ow3r
Summary: It is perched on a branch, not far from my window, watching, staring with an unfathomable black eye, it's posture too stiff to appear natural. This bird has been surveying me for what feels like hours.
Series: Bird? What bird? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2166240





	The Bird-Short Story

It is perched on a branch, not far from my window, watching, staring with an unfathomable black eye, it's posture too stiff to appear natural. This bird has been surveying me for what feels like hours. It arrives every day, always at the same time, always doing the same thing. It sits, and it waits. Every day when it reappears, I tear a doodle from the corner of my notebook. It leaves, most of the time, after I have placed the doodle as far as I dare to reach. Some days, it stares disapprovingly at the doodle, as if it is not good enough. If the doodle is insufficient enough, it will grace me with the most blood curdling screech known to mortals. This screech does not sound like it should belong to such a petite creature, and I sometimes wonder if that is something I should be concerned with.  
The bird is late. There has never been a day where the bird did not show, and I have never been more anxious. So many times, I wished for it to leave, but now that it is actually gone, I find myself with more dread than before. I don't know what to do with myself. I find myself waiting, by the window, hoping, that maybe this is a good thing. That thing has been a nuisance since day one, but I never actually considered the consequences of its existence.  
It has been four days since the bird disappeared. I don't know where it came from, or why it's gone, but my feeling of impending doom increases with each day that passes. It feels as if the very fabric of the universe has decided to unravel simply because one little winged creature was late to a tea party. Everything feels out of place. Time passes more slowly. Things have been going missing around the house. One of my succulents suddenly rotted overnight. Yesterday, it rained, no poured, for almost nine hours. This journal is almost full, and the thought of going out to get a new one is appalling. I need that bird to come back.  
I finally managed enough courage to leave the house. I was sorely disappointed. Everything is gone. I reside in a little town, up north, it's lovely really. I can't find it. I can't find it! How do you lose your own hometown? I don't know. It is almost as if everything has vanished off of the face of this god forsaken planet. When I returned home, I started doodling, hoping that maybe it could be summoned. Whatever it was, it's not actually a bird. 

The bird returned today. I don't know if it is the same bird though. It didn't come to the window, it waited at the back door. It refused to judge every doodle I shoved its way. It wouldn't leave, it wouldn't even make that god-awful screech. I would give anything to hear that sound again. It stayed there looking, expecting something from me, but I had nothing to give. This has never happened before. My patience is gone, my self-control non-existent. I simply re-enter the house and wait by the window. I wait for hours, watching, too scared to look away. It eventually leaves. I don't know how long it had been, but another one of my plants had rotted away while I stood there.  
It returns again the next day, but there are more. Another bird joins it, this one smaller, minuscule even when compared to the other, but nonetheless it waits. It waits, and it stares. I don't know what they want. I can't decide whether or not I actually want them to leave. I know something horrific is going to happen if they continue to appear, but I do not think my sanity will survive much longer in the weird solitude I have been experiencing. After they leave, I finally make a decision.  
I am prepared for them soon. I have locked all of the entrances. All of the curtains are closed. I have not yet learned what species these creatures belong to, but I do my best to accommodate anyways. I have stored away one of my letter openers, only for if the need arises, and I have a candle lit in my hand. I really hope that these demonic beasts fear the small flame. I sit and I wait, for they should be arriving soon.  
They do not appear that day. Or the next. Or the one after that. I attempt to keep track of when they appear, but I have long lost the ability to keep track of time. This is the second time they have failed to show. Something is going on here. Why me, why now. What did I do to deserve this? It doesn't make any sense, I don't understand.  
Someone knocked on my window. 

  
I know I shouldn’t open the window. It has been locked for weeks now, nothing good can come from me opening it, but someone knocked. There could be a person out there. I may not be alone anymore. I begin to make my way towards the window. I am doing my best to prepare myself, but I don’t know why my anxiety has suddenly spiked. The closer I get to the window, the worse it gets. It is beginning to make me nauseous, but I just have to know who is there. I have been wishing for some human contact, for all of this to end, for weeks now. This could finally be the end. I can put all of this behind me. I open the window.  
There is something on the ground. It’s hands. There are amputated hands and limbs everywhere. There are birds everywhere. I nearly fell out of the window in my panic. I almost get the window closed before chaos ensues. The birds. They are in the house. They are in the house! Why are they in the house? I tried to reach for something, anything to get them to leave, but there is no point. They’re destroying everything. Plants are everywhere, they are tearing apart my journals, I can hear jars of food smashing on the floor of the kitchen. They finally realize there is nothing left to destroy. I am the only thing left untouched in the house. I realize, too late, that they are not finished wreathing havoc.  
They swarm around me, picking at my skin, my eyes, my limbs, even my hair. They are tearing me apart piece by piece. I am so emotionally and physically drained that I barely feel a thing. I know it hurts, but the pain is simply not there. When they are done, I am nothing but bone and little bits of muscle. 

The birds leave the estate soon after The Passing has ended. The unlucky victim now reduced to yet another bird to join the flock. They move on to what is likely to be another unsuspecting, innocent person to burden.


End file.
